Bounce Back
by Ellipsis the Great
Summary: Sometimes, recovering from a loss is a long, arduous journey that takes us to place we never dreamed of…always-a-girl!Bones/Jim, past always-a-guy!Jocelin/always-a-girl!Bones. For a prompt on the st xi kink meme.


_**Bounce Back**_

_A One-Shot by Ellipsis the Great_

_**Summary**__: Sometimes, recovering from a loss is a long, arduous journey that takes us to place we never dreamed of…always-a-girl!Bones/Jim, past always-a-guy!Jocelin/always-a-girl!Bones. For a prompt on the st_xi_kink_meme._

_**DISCLAIMER**__: Star Trek and everything affiliated with it belongs to JJ Abrams and all those other people who own it. All I own is the plot…_

_**Rated**__: T for language and suggestive themes._

Leandra Darnell, nee McCoy, wakes to the familiar smell of disinfectant and stale flowers—but it is familiar because usually she is the doctor, not the patient. She looks down at her stomach, still oddly distended from five months of housing another life, but she knows—she _knows_—that it is empty, now.

She puts her hands on it, waits for the gentle shifting that has been keeping her awake for what seems like a long time, now, but it doesn't come.

"Lea?"

She looks up, realizing vaguely that she has stopped breathing and started shaking.

"I'm sorry, Lea." Jocelin says, putting a hand on hers. "Breathe, sweetie."

"Joss." She manages to choke out past the lump in her throat. "I lost…I lost our baby."

"It's okay." He says, putting his arms around her.

And then she shivers again, and with a mighty sob begins to cry.

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

"We can try for another one." Jocelin says.

It should be comforting. But the way he says it…

When he says "We can try for another one," his voice is flippant and cruel, sounding instead like it's saying '_Get the fuck over it, woman. It's already been four months; that's plenty of time to get past this. It's time to move on._'

"No, we can't just _try for another one_." She is tired, too, and _beyond _annoyed. She knows that she has turned into a workaholic in the past few weeks since she was released from the hospital and took herself off of grievance leave, but it has gotten to the point that coming home is more work than being at a hospital (with a hundred smiling, happy mothers holding their perfectly healthy babies) has ever been. "It was our baby, Joss. _Our baby_."

"Yeah, and _you_ lost it!" He says, then sucks in a breath like he knows he's gone too far. But he forces his scowl to stay in place right up until the moment her hand whips out against his cheek with a loud, sickening slap. He lets his head stay turned to one side for a moment, breathing hard, and then takes a deep breath and straightens. "It's been four months already, Leandra."

_Leandra_. She's lost him, just like that, and she knows it. So she closes her eyes, bows her head, and says, "Only four months, Jocelin."

"Tsk." He says, and walks away.

"It's _only_ been four months." She says, her hands dropping to her stomach, which has gone too flat too fast. She is supposed to be having a _baby_ today. One hand comes back up to cover her eyes, and her shoulders shake as she starts to cry again.

A year later, she comes home early to find her husband in bed with another woman.

He has the _nerve_ to get angry at _her_ ("You're always cold, now, Leandra! What else was I supposed to do?") and insists on a divorce a month after that.

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

Her attorney squeezes her shoulder apologetically, but she doesn't feel it. She doesn't feel much of anything, honestly, which is probably due to the fact that she's just lost everything to her bastard of an ex-husband. It could have something to do with the half a bottle of bourbon she'd imbibed before coming to court, too, but it's probably mostly because of her bastard ex-husband.

After a moment, she pulls herself to her feet. She almost stumbles, but manages to catch herself. Then she straightens her back, tilts her chin up, and smiles—bitterly, sardonically, but it is still a smile.

"Ms. McCoy?" Her attorney says softly.

She reaches into her purse, pulls out a flask, opens it, and takes a long swallow. Then, smiling even wider now that Jocelin and Clara Treadway (the hot little piece of ass he's replaced her with) are looking at her, says, "You give me a call when he throws her away, will ya, darlin'? I wanna see if he even makes it to the alter, this time."

Then she turns and walks out of the courtroom with as much dignity as she can muster.

She makes it all the way to the bar on her own.

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

She can't stay in Macon, of course. It's a small town—smaller since the divorce, it seems, and somehow throughout the duration of the divorce she has managed to run off anyone who had sympathized with her. Even her mother…although her mother never could look at her the same way after she assisted her father's suicide.

So she packs up the few things Jocelin didn't take in the divorce—her clothes, her flask, and the booze she's bought since the final hearing—gets into the shitty old car Jocelin so _graciously_ allowed her to keep, and drives.

She's got a little money saved up—money in an account she'd set up back before she'd even gotten pregnant, when she caught Jocelin cheating the first time. Money Jocelin doesn't know about. It's enough to keep her fed and boozed up, even if she has to sleep in her car most nights.

Somehow or other, she ends up in Iowa, next to the Starfleet shipyard. She's finally almost out of money, so she puts in some applications to nearby hospitals.

Nothing.

Desperate—because she couldn't bring herself to ask her mother for money even if they _were_ on speaking terms—she enlists.

Fucking _enlists_. In _Starfleet_.

She's fucking terrified of flying—has been ever since she was seven, when the old tire swing in the back yard broke while she was in it—and she _enlisted in Starfleet_.

She must be drunker than she thinks.

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

James T. Kirk is, quite possibly, the nicest, sweetest, most idiotic, incorrigible asshole she's ever met. He listens to her bitch and moan on the shuttle—she doesn't throw up on him, but it's a close thing—without complaint, provides surprisingly interesting and stimulating conversation (read: banter) once she's over the worst of her air-sickness, and nearly gets his head taken off by the woman who forced her out of the bathroom when he 'sneakily' gropes her while they're leaving the plane.

She finds out within two weeks of the shuttle ride that he's also egotistical, spiteful, and flirtatious to a fault. A _ridiculously huge_ fault. She supposes she should be a little insulted that he doesn't really flirt with _her_, but then again she's got three years, a miscarriage, and a divorce on him so she decides to take it as a small blessing in a world where God and Lady Luck both have it in for her. She _does_ find it a little insulting when he asks if they can room together by their second semester at Starfleet—like he's forgotten she's a woman altogether—but she takes him up on it because if she has to deal with her assigned roommate (who is like a female version of Jim but infinitely more insipid and shallow, although how that is possible is beyond Leandra) she's going to commit mass homicide.

Besides, if Jim pisses her off she can just hypo him and be done with it.

Of course, within _minutes_ people assume they're sleeping together. Leandra just laughs, because Jim's absolutely taken aback expression (ah, hell, he _has_ completely forgotten she's a woman) when someone approaches their table and asks is fucking priceless.

She lays down a few ground rules, though—she isn't dealing with any of his sexcapades, so he can damn well have sex in the girl's room instead of theirs. She also refuses to clean up his messes, but Jim is actually a surprisingly tidy person so she only has to slap him on the head a few times to get him to clean up after himself. In return, she agrees to turn the TV off at night (Jocelin liked to sleep with it on so she's gotten used to just falling asleep to it, but Jim has this weird thing about it being as quiet as possible when he's trying to sleep) and doesn't try to nag him about studying or doing his homework.

Basically, as long as whatever one person's doing doesn't impede on the other, they don't say anything about it.

That is, until the day Leandra walks in on Jim singing some god-awful 21st century song about partying in the USA that is made worse by the fact that he is completely drunk off his ass and evidently couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

"Jim, what in the fuck are you doing?" She asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

"You 'f all people sh'd rec'nize someone gettin' plassered, Bones-y." He says, peering up at her from where he is sprawled out on the crouch.

"Why are you getting plastered, Jim?" She asks.

"'S my birfday. 'M 'lowed t' get drunk 'f I wanna." He says.

She stares at him for a moment, then her face crumples a little as she remembers all of what today signifies. With a sigh, she goes and grabs a beer from the fridge. "Set up for a sec, Jimbo."

He does, and she slips down onto the couch beside him. She grabs his forehead and brings it to rest on her thigh, unthinkingly playing with his hair (the way she used to play with Jocelin's, back before their marriage went all to shit).

"Shoulda reminded me, Jim." She says. "I'd have grabbed some more booze on the way home. There ain't enough left to get me drunk, too, you selfish prick."

He laughs weakly and mutters at the computer to stop playing music. "You c'n have the rest o' mine. Jus' don't stop with the fingers."

She snorts, but continues carding her fingers through his hair, scratching every once in a while. Before long he has fallen asleep, and her hand slips from his hair to his cheek, thumb stroking it softly. He groans and shifts a bit, his beer slipping out of his hand and falling to the floor. She peers down at it for a moment, then leans back, takes a long swig from her beer, and sighs again.

"You fucker, that bottle's empty."

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

She and Jim have sex almost the minute they're back on Earth after blowing up the _Narada_. It's messy I-can't-believe-we're-still-alive sex, and she realizes with more than a little bit of shock that it's the first time she's had sex in ages. Since before the divorce. Since she lost the baby.

"Why'd we wait so long to do this?" Jim asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"I like to pretend I've got good taste." She says, eyes closed, head resting on his shoulder.

"You're not supposed to be this snarky after sex." There is a hint of a whine in his voice even as he puts his arm around her.

"You must be doing something wrong, then." She says with a chuckle.

"I'll do better next time." He promises.

"There gonna be a next time?" She asks.

"Aw, c'mon, Bones-y. It wasn't _that_ bad." He says.

She snorts, but doesn't dispute his claim. Of course, he takes that as wholehearted approval, tracing nonsensical patterns onto her side with his fingers, which slowly drift southward. "Jim."

"You have to give me at least _one_ chance to redeem myself." He says. "_Please_, Bones?"

She is quiet for a moment, and then suddenly swings herself up and straddles him, an eyebrow arching as she leans forward so that her breasts are squeezed up against his chest. "You really wanna make this a regular thing, Jimmy boy?"

"You've always been my favorite, Bones." He replies, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand as he gives her an impish—but sincere—smile.

"I've already dealt with infidelity once, Jim." She says. "I won't stand for it again."

"I guess you haven't noticed, Bones, but I'm not your ex." He says. "And whatever else you might say about me, I've never cheated on someone if we're actually, y'know, dating and not just doing the one night stand thing."

She hums thoughtfully and closes the gap between them, capturing his lips in hers. "I guess I can put up with you for a little while longer."

He flips them over and reaches down, teasing her with his fingers as he puts his mouth close to her ear. "You'll never be rid of me, now, _Leandra_."

She moans and kisses him again, snaking her arms around her neck.

She'll bitch about this, later, but for now she secretly hopes he's right.

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

Of course, sperm coming from someone like Jim won't be spurned for long—even though he wears condoms (with spermicide!) and she takes birth control, one day about two years into their first five-year mission (and their hopefully-not-just-five-year-long relationship) she realizes she hasn't had her period in almost four months. And she's getting a little chubby, even though she has always taken great care what she puts into her body (other than alcohol).

So, jaw clenched, she checks.

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

"I'm pregnant." She whispers that night as his lips brush against her neck.

He freezes, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

"What?" His voice is strained.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear me, Jim, we both know you did." She snaps.

He is quiet—she can hear a soft gulp, followed by quickened breathing—and then the bed springs creak in loud protest as he removes himself.

"I'm sorry. Bones, I…" He can't seem to find words—and isn't that a first?—and she hears him grab a bathrobe. And then he's gone.

She lays there for a moment, cold and shivering, and then, slowly, sits up. Her legs drop over the side of the bed, one arm wrapping around her stomach as she uses her other hand to cover her mouth. Her shoulders shake, and tears drip down into her fingers.

Then she stands up and stumbles to the bathroom, falling to her knees beside the toilet and puking her guts out for the first time in a long time, surprisingly enough.

When she has finally finished worshipping the porcelain god, she slumps against it for just a little while, reaching up lethargically to flush. Then she pulls herself up and forces herself to brush her teeth before returning to bed and curling up as much as she dares.

The next day she submits a request to Spock for light duty, explaining in as few words as possible what is going on. Of course, Spock can't just fucking_ let it go_, so he calls her into his office.

When she arrives, he motions at her to take a seat, then clasps his hands together and stares at her like she is a particularly interesting equation that he cannot solve.

"Why did you send this request to me, Doctor?" He asks after the silence has stretched on for too long.

"Captain Kirk is the biological father." She says with as little emotion as she can manage. "I thought it best to leave all matters that arise due to the pregnancy to someone less likely to be…emotionally compromised."

After a moment's thought, he inclines his head in a slight, approving nod. "I see. The captain is aware—"

"Yes." She snaps, jaw clenching.

Another quiet pause. "How has he…reacted to the news?"

"Well, he apologized and left." She bites out. "So I assume he wants nothing to do with it."

"I see." Spock says. "I will make the necessary changes in your schedule, Doctor. Will you…make your condition public?"

"I'm four months along and already showing, Mr. Spock, I think people will figure it out regardless of what I do." She says. "But, yeah, I'll make a formal announcement to my immediate staff. The grapevine will take care of the rest."

"I would like to be the first to extend my sincerest congratulations." He says. "You are dismissed."

She nods and stands.

"And…my condolences for the captain's illogical behavior." He adds as the door opens.

"It's perfectly logical, Spock." She says quietly. "That's why it hurts so much."

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

"I thought you might abort it."

When Jim finally comes slinking back—that's logical, too, even if it isn't a logic that Spock understands—Leandra is only a few days shy of giving birth. She wonders if it's because he actually feels guilty, or because almost all of the crew has been giving him disapproving looks since they found out about her pregnancy and his response. She is a little flattered by their support in spite of herself.

"Oh?" She asks.

"Because of…of what I did." He explains.

She purses her lips together, glaring at him.

"I figured you must hate me for it." He says, looking down.

"I don't hate you, Jim." She says quietly. "I don't reckon I can; and more's the pity, sometimes. But honestly? It wouldn't matter even if I did." When he stares at her, obviously confused, her shoulders slump and she sighs. She seems to do that a lot when he's around, for one reason or another. "Did I ever tell you about my marriage?"

"I know he cheated." He says.

"I had a miscarriage." She says. "When I was five months along my body rejected the baby and killed it."

He says nothing, but she hears his breath catch.

"On my due actual date, Jocelin…implied that I should have recovered from the loss, since it had been four months." She says, her bottom lip trembling completely of its own volition. She swallows in a vain attempt to get rid of the lump in her throat. "How…how could I _consciously_ kill a baby after that?"

"Bones…_Leandra_…" He says.

And she snaps. "Get out." She knows it's the hormones, mostly, but she doesn't particularly care. "Just get out, Jim. I have work to do, and honestly I can't deal with you _and_ that right now, alright?"

"Bones—"

"I said _get the fuck out_." She snarls.

He stands there for a moment, looking like he wants to say something, but her glare must be pretty damned impressive, because eventually he just closes his mouth, looks down, and leaves.

Shaking, she begins to cry, putting a hand over her eyes like that's going to stop the tears from escaping.

"Come back." She says hoarsely. "Jim, please, I can't do this…not by myself…"

Then, suddenly, there is a wet spot on her skirt. Swinging her hand blindly as her stomach explodes with pain, she hits the intercom button through pure luck.

She screams. "Christine! The baby!"

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

The baby is a boy—she knew that already, of course, although she had been tempted _not_ to find out. It's different, though; one thing to know that the child is a healthy baby boy, and quite another to hold him in her arms and feel deep in her bones that he's alive and real.

She starts crying as soon as Christine puts him in her arms, relief and love and joy welling up from somewhere deep inside her heart.

"Christine, I want to make an announcement." She says, tearing her eyes away just long enough to meet Christine's. "A ship-wide announcement."

"Of course." Christine says, smiling at her. She and Dr. M'Benga are the only people who know Leandra has given birth, at Leandra's insistence. She puts in the medical override code and swings the screen down in front of Leandra.

Leandra wipes her eyes hastily, suddenly self-conscious even though she couldn't stop the smile on her face if she tried—and she doesn't much care to try.

"Hello, fellow crewmembers of the USS _Enterprise_. This is your CMO, Dr. Leandra McCoy, as I'm sure you all know. I apologize if I'm interrupting anything, but I thought you'd all like to meet our newest crewmate." She says, lifting the baby up so that he fits in the screen. "He's a healthy baby boy. And he's looking forward to meeting his daddy, Jim, so you'd better get your scrawny ass in here before I name him without you. McCoy out."

"He's beautiful, Doctor." M'Benga says.

Laughter bursts out of her throat. "You just spent the last couple of hours staring at my vagina; I'm pretty sure it's alright for you to call me Leandra."

M'Benga laughs, and the baby chooses that moment to start crying.

"Poor baby." She coos, not noticing how quiet it has suddenly gotten other than the baby's crying.

"Bones?"

She looks up, her eyes meeting Jim's—his face is flushed and his breathing labored—but a second later the baby lets out a particularly loud wail and she returns her attention to him.

"Shh, silly brat." She says with a soft puff of air that is really another laugh. When the baby actually does calm down, she looks back up. Jim is staring at the baby, his eyes wide, and he's tense, like he's just barely stopping himself from running away again. She carefully extracts one arm from underneath the baby and reaches out. "Jim?"

His eyes snap to hers, and he lets out a breath like he has only now remembered that he has to breathe in order to live. His first step almost sends him sprawling, but he catches himself and practically runs to her side, grabbing her hand and clasping it tightly in both of his as he kisses her knuckles. "I'm sorry. Bones. Lea. Leandra. I'm so fucking sorry."

She pulls her hand out of his so she can put in on his cheek. "I'm not going to say it's okay, Jim," She says, "because it isn't."

Jim's face crumples, his mouth opening and closing—for once, he's got no answer.

With a smile that's almost a grimace, she adds, "Not yet. But it will be."

He puts his hands on either side of her face and kisses her, then pressed their foreheads together, thumbs stroking her cheeks like he isn't sure if she's really real. "Promise?"

"Yeah." She says with a soft chuckle. "Help me move over so you can sit down."

He does, remembering halfway through that she's holding a baby—_their_ baby—and gaping like he's never seen such a thing before. His hand inches forward and pulls back in a strange twitching motion, and his voice his soft as he asks, "Can I…touch him?"

"You can hold him, if you want." She laughs. "He's half yours, y'know."

"Half…mine." He says like he's just come to realize that. Then he shakes his head. "I'll drop him, Bones."

"You're sitting down." She says with a roll of a her eyes. "And you're going to have to grow a pair and learn eventually, because I'm sure as hell not taking care of him on my own. Besides, you _owe_ me."

He winces.

"For getting you onboard the _Enterprise_, remember?" She elaborates, taking a little mercy on him.

"I do not owe you for that." He mumbles, but gulps and tries to position his arms correctly to take the baby.

She snorts, but maneuvers the baby gently into his arms. "Tilt your left elbow up a little so you're supporting his head; that's it."

"He's so tiny." He says, his voice hushed.

"Mhm." She says, putting her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. "What should we call him?"

"You didn't think up any names?" He asks.

"That's something for _both_ parents to decide." She says firmly. "But we aren't naming him after anyone, alright? I don't want him to grow up under anyone's shadow."

"He's already going to, with us for parents." He says.

"As few shadows as possible, then."

He nods. "What about Nathan?"

"Nathan." She says, testing the name on her tongue. "Nathan…Alexander?"

"Yeah. Nathan Alexander." He says. "I like it. Nathan Alexander McCoy."

"Kirk." She says, in the way that means he's being a dumbass. "Nathan Alexander Kirk."

"Are you sure—"

"You're _eventually_ gonna get around to makin' an honest woman out of me, ain't you?" She's still using _that tone_. "Might as well save the poor kid some confusion later."

He blinks. "Oh. Well…alright, I guess."

She regards him with an upraised brow for a moment before saying, "Hand him back to me; I should try to get him to eat. And _you_ can hold _me_."

He laughs and hands the baby—Nathan—over with such care that she wonders if this might actually be the first time he has ever held a baby. Then he puts an arm around her and pulls her as close as he can. "I do love you, Bones. Even when I was…I mean, I've always loved you."

"I love you, too, Jim." She says, and turns her head to kiss his cheek.

(IMAYPAGEBREAKONYOU)

"We were wondering if you and Lieutenant Uhura would be his godparents, Commander Spock." Jim says formally when Christine lets the Alpha crew in to visit the little trio.

Spock blinks. "We…would be honored, Captain." He says, taken aback by the request even if the only outward sign of this is a slight twitch of his eyebrow. Jim is probably one of the only people in the room to be able to 'read' Spock's expressions (Uhura being another, naturally), and he figures he'll spare the half-Vulcan the shock of hearing that it was actually Leandra's idea. Spock's jaw might actually drop if he found out, and that just _had_ to be a sign of the apocalypse, right?

"And if you try to turn my son into some logic-spewing automaton…" Leandra trails off, giving Spock a threatening look that isn't as effective as usual thanks to the sparkle in her eyes.

"Seeing as your son is quite human and the replacement of his being with electronic parts would be both time-consuming and entirely unnecessary for his continued function, I find it highly illogical for you to assume I would—"

"The day he comes home talking like that is the day you disappear without a trace, you green-blooded hobgoblin." She warns.

"Someone's cranky, and it's not Nathan." Jim says in a sing-song tone.

"Go pass a kidney stone, and you _might_ have some vague idea of what today was like for me." She says. "And _then_ I might just let you say I'm cranky."

"There is no discernible difference from your demeanor now and at any other given time, Doctor." Spock says, returning to his naturally blank expression.

"It's different because I'm more justified than usual." She says. "And damn if I'm not usually pretty justified, given the crazy shit this crew gets into daily." She glances at Jim as she finished talking.

"Doctor." Uhura interrupts. "Would it be alright if I held him?"

Not having expected such a question, Leandra actually scowls and opens her mouth to make a smart reply before she realizes what has been asked. Then her lips quirk upward and she nods, and they all pretend not to notice that she's blushing. "Of course you can, Lieutenant. And you _are_ allowed to call me Leandra when I'm not on duty, you know."

"And you can call me Nyota." Uhura says as she takes Nathan from Leandra and coos at him.

"Hey! No using the baby to get on first name terms with Uhura." Jim whines.

She makes a face at him. "We're on a first name basis because I'm not an insufferable jackass, unlike certain a starship captain I could name whose last name rhymes with 'irk,' as in 'it irks me to deal with you when you're being an insufferable jackass.'"

"Cranky." Jim reiterates. "Go to sleep, Bones-y. We'll take Nathan to the little crib-thing Nurse Chapel's got set up for him, alright?"

An emotion flits across her face that none of them can place, but makes them feel like they're doing something unforgiveable even though they know they aren't. And then it's gone, and she nods and leans back in the bed, looking tense but exhausted.

"We will take him, Captain." Spock says quietly. "Perhaps you should…stay and keep the good doctor company?"

Jim nods and waves them out of the room, crawling back into the bed beside Leandra and wrapping his arms around her.

"He's really here, isn't he?" She asks.

"Yeah." He says. "He's here, and he's perfect, and you did such a good job, Bones."

She sighs shakily and slumps against him. "Sorry. I just…ever since I found out, I keep waiting to wake up and realize it's all a dream."

"It's not a dream, Bones." He says. "It's really real, okay?"

She gulps and nods, and he thinks for a moment that she's going to say something else, but then she starts snoring and he realizes that she has fallen asleep.

"Love you, Bones-y." He says, and closes his eyes.

The End.

_A/N: I honestly never thought I'd ever write a gender-bent fic. I kind of don't like them all that much, actually. But it was fun to write, regardless._

_The bit at the beginning about Jocelin being unsympathetic towards Leandra's miscarriage after a point is based on true events from my mother's first marriage. (Since I used stuff from my dad's first marriage for 'A Silent Vigil', it seemed only fair to do the same for my mom…or something.)_

_ANYHOW, I hope you all enjoyed it! 8)_


End file.
